


Guns and Horses

by Gabrielle_Day, Takada_Saiko



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q friendship, Action/Adventure, BroQ, Bromance, Companionable Snark, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, slight movie spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrielle_Day/pseuds/Gabrielle_Day, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Takada_Saiko/pseuds/Takada_Saiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Q is identified as the source of an information leak, Bond must choose where to place his hard earned trust and keep them both alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

He felt very much like a child being called to the principal’s office. The hallway never seemed this long when he had approached his former boss’ office - granted that had been an entirely different building and he often resorted to simply showing up at her home in order to receive orders and prove that he never quite lost a step, but that was all beside the point - but he couldn’t help but feel a bit of nagging when Mallory called him into his office. M. He was M now, not Mallory. The M he had always known was dead and gone and it would do no good to dwell.

James Bond stood at the door leading into the front office. He pushed it open after a moment, flashing the pretty woman at the desk a charming smile. “Ms. Moneypenny,” he greeted, not a bit of the apprehension he felt coloring his voice.

  
“James,” she replied, her voice soft and sweet. “You’ve kept the boss waiting.”

  
“I came over as soon as I could.” He leaned up against her desk, picking up an ornate paperweight that could have come from the furthest reaches of the world. It probably did.

  
“And yet here you are, at my desk. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  
The playful banter would have continued on if her phone hadn’t buzzed. “Ms. Moneypenny, send him in,” M’s voice echoed over the comm.

  
“Right away,” she answered and shot him a pointed look. “Don’t make me shoot at you again.”

  
“On my way,” he said quickly, moving to the second door with more speed than he’d passed through the first.

He gave a short knock before entering, finding the office just as changed as the last time he’d entered. It took everything he had not to set that horrible little bulldog on M’s desk, where it truly belonged.

  
“Have a seat, 007. Brandy?” He poured the agent a glass, knowing the answer. He handed it over and promptly poured himself one. He looked worn, Bond noted, as if he’d received some very bad news that had kept him up the night before. Not that he didn’t have a bit of weight on his shoulders, having taken MI6 over after the whole Silva incident. The man was a bloody machine if he hadn’t found himself with a sleepless night or two.

  
Bond watched M stare at the liquid he had poured in the glass for himself, and the agent had to wonder how many glasses his superior had already indulged in. While it was practically a job qualification for M to be curmudgeonly, it certainly would not do to have one be maudlin.

  
“Something troubling you, sir?” Bond asked mildly.

  
M’s cool gray gaze snapped to Bond’s and he straightened in his chair. “We’ve had an information leak. As you can imagine, we’re quite eager to put the lid on this before it can be exposed by the media. After last year, we cannot afford any more bad press, especially when it comes to the security of our information.”

  
“Are there agents in danger?” Bond asked, appearing no more concerned than he had before M’s declaration.

  
“I do not believe so. Not at this time. That could change.”

“And you believe you know the source of this leak.”

M paused. “Why do you say that?”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Tracking the source of an information leak would be a job for Q branch. Taking out the source of the leak would be my job.”

M downed his drink and poured another glass. “Have you spoken to Q this morning?”

“No.” Bond said. He honestly hadn’t had much of a reason to see his Quartermaster in the last month. The missions he had undergone had been routine and only one of the toys Q supplied him had come back broken, which Bond felt had been a personal failing on his part. He considered it a challenge to see how many pieces in which he could bring back his gadgets.

Field testing, and all that.

“Good. Q hasn’t been in this morning.” M pushed a folder over the desk towards the agent. “This is the traced source of the leak. I need you to retrieve him -alive- and bring him in for questioning.”

Bond narrowed his eyes, finishing the brandy and setting the glass on the desk with heavy hand before pulling the folder into his lap. He studied M for thirty seconds, maybe more, until the man blinked and looked away, telling Bond all he needed to know about what he was about to find in the folder. It didn’t lessen the twist in his gut when Q’s face stared out at him from the front of the dossier.

“If we’re comparing bad staff photos, I guarantee you mine’s worse.” Bond said flatly.

“Bond...”

“Is this your idea of a joke?” the agent asked.

“Watch yourself, 007.” M snapped.

Bond stood, restraining himself to simply dropping the folder on the desk. He’d done a bit of digging on Q after their first mission together. He didn’t like to be caught off guard.There wasn’t much about him before he dropped his name for the single letter. While no year was listed, his resume - all employees had one on file at MI6, even if the majority of it was blacked out - spoke of the highest education, honors, and he had come highly recommended to Q branch. Granted, that was all that his resume said, but at the very bottom, where the signature and his hire date was scrawled in, no low-ranking MI6 employee’s name resided. It wasn’t even the previous quartermaster. It was M’s signature. She had personally brought him into the fold, and as far as James was concerned, that clenched it.

“This is absurd. One nutcase takes us for a spin and we’re going to start tearing ourselves apart now?”

“If you’re too emotionally involved I can have someone else bring him in,” M growled, looking even more exhausted.

He was being pressured into this. They had no solid proof, but whoever was pulling the strings on this - bureaucracy, no doubt - would hang Q out to dry if he did anything wrong or not.

“I can bring him in.”

“Good, because you were the name I threw out. If you weren’t capable of it, Derek Craven would have sent his own men after him.”

“Craven?”

“He’s overseeing the investigation and has the PM’s ear on it. Our hands are tied here and -” he lowered his voice - “- and Craven is no fan of our young quartermaster. I’d really prefer you to bring him in, 007.”

“Consider it done.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

 

Q was not a sentimental sort. He had no photographs on his walls or next to his bed, no hand scribbled pictures from nieces or nephews and no defining features to his flat. He kept it simple, mostly because he was rarely there.

He sat at his desk and glared at the clock. Granted, he could get a good half of the day’s work done from his laptop at home, but he preferred to be in the office. There was something about the smell of gunpowder and the barely controlled sparks of a new toy being tested that made his day seem a little brighter, but he’d run across an irregularity in his latest project and he couldn’t move from his computer until he found the source. It had been a special request, a peace offering as it were, to the higher ups. Mallory had rolled his eyes and wished him good luck.

The young quartermaster had intended to go straight to bed when he had entered his flat at four that morning, but the glitch caught his eye. Four hours later he was still glued to the computer screen, tracing the source. It was as if someone had gotten into his system, but not through any of the usual channels. It was almost as if the data he’d been given to start with was corrupted and infested.

“There you are,” he murmured to himself, finally finding the end of the rope.

He set to unwinding it and grabbed for the land line phone. His attention was finally spared from the computer when he realized there was no dial tone.

“No need to be concerned,” Q said to himself, hanging up the phone and standing.

He moved to his kitchen counter where he’d left his cell phone. Now that he was refocused on the world outside the problem he’d been hounding he realized it was strange that it had not rung or notified him of any text messages since he’d been home. The screen showed the no service available message. Q pressed air through his nose and slipped the phone into his back pocket. If someone were using a jammer, it would affect two of the alarms intruders would trip if entering his apartment without permission.

“Maybe a little concern is called for,” he amended, going back to his computer. He sighed. “Of course.” His WiFi connection had mysteriously been terminated.

Whoever was making a nuisance of themselves was quite prepared; Q might have been impressed if he hadn’t been so annoyed. Shoving paperwork and his laptop into a shoulder bag, he was startled by a loud thud in the hallway. Heart rate increasing with the realization that his situation was about to be quite serious, Q decided that having a statement more powerful than a messenger bag would be prudent. He kept a gun in the top drawer of his nightstand for emergencies, not that he ever believed all his security systems would fail. It was merely a precaution. He put the bag over his shoulder and slowly backed towards his bedroom.

The front door came crashing in and Q felt the panic rise. He ran for the room as one of the men - it looked like there were three, but he couldn’t be sure - came at him. He jumped for the drawer, the intruder jumped for him and they both landed in a pile on his bedroom floor. One large hand took hold of the back of his t-shirt, dragging him off the carpet and to his feet. He struggled for a moment before he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head and he went instantly still.

“Looked like you almost had it,” a gravely voice said and grabbed at the quartermaster’s chin, tugging him harshly so that he looked him in the eye.

He was tall, standing a good few inches over Q’s own height, but he was not thin like the younger man. He was broader than even some of the more impressive agents at MI6. He gave a lopsided smirk as their third cohort grabbed the satchel away roughly, pulling the laptop from it.

“Locked up, boss.”

Q’s captor sighed, releasing his chin long enough to take hold of the back of his neck and send him tumbling to the nearest wall. He hit hard, feeling the room spin as he sat down to the floor hard. He swallowed, trying to gain his bearings and stared up.

“Open it.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question. Log in or I’ll blow your brains out.”

Q tilted his head and frowned. “You can’t be serious. If you blow my brains out how will you get into the laptop?”

His captor smiled, revealing a perfectly straight, white set of teeth marred only by one missing incisor. “How right you are. Instead, I’ll blow out your kneecap. After that, I’ll break your fingers one by one in such a way that they will never heal properly. You’ll never type again and if you do it will only be with excruciating pain. Now, sign in to your account.”

Q swallowed. “No.” He pulled his knees up close to his chest and braced one hand against the wall.

“As you like it, princess.”

The man aimed the gun at his left knee and Q launched himself up and off the wall a millisecond before the man pulled the trigger. The shot seemed deafening but went wide, his sudden movement throwing off his aim. Q tackled him to the ground, sending the gun spinning under the bed. Q shoved his fist into the bottom of his attacker’s chin, and again into his throat. Taking advantage of the few precious seconds he bought himself, he rolled to the side and scrambled for the gun.  
His fingers had just closed around it when he was struck in the side and forced onto his back.

The few seconds had not been enough.

The man’s hands closed around Q’s throat and he struggled to pull the fingers away. Spots floated in front of his eyes. The man let go with one hand to backhand him across the face and Q could taste blood in his mouth. The hit was enough to focus him, and he grasped under the bed until he found the gun again.

The shot wasn’t clean and it took a second to make sure the man wouldn’t move again. Q groaned and sat up, rubbing at his neck and staring at the dead body currently soaking blood into the bedroom carpet.

There were others, Q reminded himself. Others who had most certainly heard the shots. He struggled to his feet, feeling the world spin. They had his computer. He wasn’t entirely worried about these big oafs getting into it as much as triggering one of his many programs that would wipe the hard drive entirely. Q had his hand on the door frame, steadying himself, when his vision into the living room was blocked.

“Never could trust him to finish anything,” the man that had grabbed him first said, glowering past the quartermaster to where his companion lay dead. “Learn a few things at MI6?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Q managed, backing away. He cursed himself silently when he realized he’d left the gun on the floor. It was easy enough to talk about neutralizing an enemy in theory. What should one do if one is compromised? Even tech geeks received the most basic of training upon admission into MI6. Especially ones with as high of clearance as he had. Now all the training seemed to be slipping out of his mind. His mind which was usually so quick came up blank.

  
“You’re not afraid enough, but we can change that. When we’re done with ya, you’ll be beggin’ to tell all you know.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. I work with men much more frightening than you.”

“Well they wouldn’t end your life, now would they?”

“That’s debatable.” Q said dryly.

He was rewarded for his comment with another hit to the jaw, splitting his lip.

“Hey, Jeff? I can’t get into this.” The second man called from the front.

Jeff grabbed Q by the neck and forced him through the bedroom doorway, keeping his gun pressed to the base of Q’s skull as they moved. Just as they reached the end of the hallway, they heard a soft “oof” followed by a thud as something heavy hit the wood floor in the kitchen. Pulling Q in front of him as a shield, Jeff moved them into the front room.

Bond stood over the body of the second man, gun pointed in the general direction of Q and his captor, a sight line uncomfortably close to his own limbs for Q’s comfort.

“Q.” Bond greeted.

“Bond.” Q returned, keeping his voice steady. He didn’t miss the way Bond’s eyes narrowed when he looked at Q’s face.

“You planning to shoot straight through him?” Jeff sneered, pulling at the quartermaster roughly.

“No, I was planning on shooting around him.” Without pause he sidestepped and the man was down within a second, leaving Q standing with blood that was not his own splattered across his t-shirt.

“You nearly shot me.”

“But I didn’t,” Bond answered as he approached the shaken younger man.

He gave him a quick once over, making sure that the bruising he could see was the worst of it. There were telltale signs of violence and attempted intimidation in the form of discoloration beginning across the tech genius’ neck and jawline. Bond’s skilled hands checked his jaw briefly, making sure there was no further damage.

Q swatted him away. “I’m fine,” he snapped, “but these men were not alone. Someone had the know-how to shut down my security. I don’t believe for a moment that any of these half-wits would have come close.” He paused and pulled his glasses from his nose, trying to clean them on his now bloodstained shirt. “What are you doing here anyway, 007?”

  
Bond ignored him and bent by the last man down, rifling through pockets. The man had no identification on him, only a wad of cash and extra ammunition. “They came well armed for a tech geek.” he murmured. “I didn’t see a car when I arrived. That means it’s parked well enough away or there was a driver who left when you killed the first one.”

“007, what are you doing here?” Q insisted, righting his glasses on his nose.

Bond looked up at him from his position crouched near the body, blue eyes unreadable. “Did you know any of these men?”

“What? Don’t be absurd. Why would I know any of them? And if I knew them why would they have broken into my flat? Where’s my laptop? There’s something I’ve got to finish.” Q moved away from the bodies and towards his laptop, open again on his kitchen table.

Bond was up in an instant and grabbed him by an elbow, swinging the younger man around to face him. “Q. There are three dead men in your flat which takes priority over whatever you’ve got on your laptop and it is important that you look me in the eye and tell me you do not know any of them. Do you know what they wanted?”

For the first time Q caught a sense of barely contained urgency in his agent and he stilled, thinking back through the verbal interaction. He met Bond’s gaze. “No, I don’t know who any of them are and they never said what they wanted, other than the laptop. Access to the laptop, I mean. Listen to me, there is something more important than this. There’s been a crack in the system; I’ve got to stop it.”

Bond didn’t let the quartermaster pull out of his grasp. “Q, it’s too late for that.”

Q met the agent’s eyes and found himself gripping his jacket tightly. The room was spinning again, but not entirely from the blows he had taken. Something was terribly wrong, and if he had been more on his game he might be able to focus in on it. “007, why are you here?” he asked for the last time. He didn’t want to know the answer, but he knew that he needed to.

Bond sighed. “There’s been a leak. Mallory’s being pressured.”

“You weren’t here to rescue me.”

“No.”

“Mallory thinks I’d betray MI6?”

“He thought it was worth bringing you in for questioning.” Bond sighed and checked his cell. He hadn’t had signal when he’d come in, so whoever was blocking before was gone by then. “This should turn events.”

“I’ve been set up.”

“I know.”

Q blinked, watching Bond dial a number to a private line. “How do you know?”

The blond agent gave him no answer, merely watched Q's face and focused on the conversation. “M, I’ve got him, but someone else tried to get to him first.” He paused, listening. “He’s alright, mostly. Listen, he’d found the breach when he was attacked. I get the feeling you’ve thrown me into something without all the facts.”

He waited again and Q could vaguely make out M speaking on the other end.

“Right. Will do. Yes sir, I understand.” James snapped the phone shut and took hold of Q’s arm again. “Get what you need. We’re leaving.”

  
“To HQ?”

“No.”

“I don’t want to go to Scotland.” Q said, sounding faintly alarmed.

Bond glared at him. “Go. And change your shirt!”

Ten minutes later Q reappeared with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and wearing a shirt devoid of blood. He picked up his messenger bag and nodded once. Bond took his elbow again as they left the flat, giving Q mere seconds to lock the door before herding him down the hall.

When they reached the street Q looked up at him, his expression both grim and determined. Bond opened his mouth before quickly shutting it again when he realized what he was about to say. He learned long ago not to make promises or give reassurances, not when he wanted it to be the truth, not when he geniunely cared about the outcome.

“The car’s two blocks over.” he murmured instead.

Q nodded. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I never cared for surprises.” Q said.

“You shouldn’t have gone into espionage, then.” Bond said easily.

“Is that why you did it? For the surprise of it all?”

“No. I joined because I thought there were no surprises left.”

They were almost to the car before Q asked, “Were there any?”

They looked at each other over the top of the car for a moment until Bond smiled, the slightly unnerving all knowing smile that always left Q with the impression none of his gadgets were coming home in one piece that day, and said, “Several.”


	2. Two

Q watched the scenery move past as they headed in what seemed to be the opposite direction of HQ. He had thought perhaps Bond was teasing him when he’d said they weren’t going back. Someone had just attacked him in his own home and was after project of high clearance. Someone knew about it, and that was enough to be worrisome.

“Why aren’t we going to HQ?”

“Because Craven’s behind this push and if M doesn’t know where you are he can’t hand you over to him.”

“We’re running from MI6 then?”

“That doesn’t trouble you, does it?”

The quartermaster gave a huff of a laugh, feeling his entire world spinning out of control. He gripped the door handle and pressed himself back against the seat. He thought about the facts he had at his disposal. M had assigned him a massive project along with “your eyes only” orders until it was complete. He didn’t know what office it came from, only that it was from one of the bureaucratic offices. He had found a breach and not minutes after he’d been attacked. Derek Craven - a man that had adamantly protested Q’s promotion to quartermaster not long before the Silva debacle - was on a witch hunt and it sounded like while Mallory believed him, his hands were so tightly tied by the red tape that he’d all but told Bond to run with him. He took a calming breath and it didn’t calm him.

“You keep looking in the mirror,” he found himself saying, wondering when he’d even noticed Bond doing so.

“We’re being followed. Apparently Craven didn’t trust M or I to take care of this.”

“Perhaps we should just pull over. I’ll go in and we’ll sort this out.”

The agent’s eyes shifted over to give him a bored look. “No. That wouldn’t end well.”

“Then what are you suggesting we do, 007?”

“Lose him.” He revved the car engine and took a sudden tight turn around the next left corner. “Can you disable the GPS for me? It’d be a bit easier than ditching the car entirely.”

Q’s hands were moving almost instantly, his body agreeing to the insane plan before his mind could even fully accept it. He glanced at Bond out of the corner of his eye. “Whoever has figured this out is very good. They’ll come until they have it or until I’m dead, won’t they?”

“Probably.”

“I’m not useless, Bond, but I’m not a field agent. I could get you killed if you don’t take me in now.”

“I’ll consider it the most worthwhile thing I’ve died for yet.” Bond said without hesitation before jerking the vehicle into a sharp left turn. Car horns blared from the traffic he cut off.

Q snorted and pulled small object out of the bag at his feet. He plugged it into the the cigarette lighter and watched the red light blink on. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You always do. What is that?” Bond asked, pointing at the device.

“It’s tracker defense. We’ll be visible for another forty five seconds or so and then they shouldn’t be able to read the car or any of the phones we have. I don’t know where the device is in this car, so that will have to do.”

“Did you build that?”

“No, actually. I bought it at the spy store on a bit of a lark.”

Bond laughed. “The spy store. Excellent. You’ll have to give me the address so I know where to go when you finally become angry enough with me that you stop building me things.”

Q rolled his eyes and glanced at the side mirror. “If I decide you aren’t worth building things for, you’ll have bigger problems than where to find the spy store. Have we lost them?”

“No. Hold on.”

Q found himself nearly plastered to the door as Bond cut sharp. He let out a grunt of pain as his already aching head hit the side and he turned a glare in the agent’s direction. It was promptly ignored.They sped through London’s narrow streets, dodging people and other cars alike. A taxi honked loudly and Q looked back.

“They’re still coming,” he said just as the gunshots shattered the back window.

“Get down,” Bond snapped, reaching over without looking and forcing Q down. “What the hell is on that laptop of yours?”

“A project,” the quartermaster answered as he reached for it. “I have an idea, bear with me.” He kept his head ducked low as Bond swerved this way and that, laptop out and fingers typing furiously. “Left up ahead.”

“What are you doing?”

“Losing him. Left now.”

Bond jerked to the left, the car wheels squealing. One glance back in the mirror showed the traffic light changing to red.

“Right now.” Q looked up when they didn’t turn. “I said right! Back there!”

“Would you like me to turn around then?”

“Well that would be pointless, wouldn’t it?”

“Then give me a little warning.”

“What? You need warning? Two streets up, right.”

Bond did as told with only a little grumbling, mostly for his own pride as they turned. Another light changed and there was a loud crashing sound behind them.

Q let out a sigh and snapped the laptop closed. His hands were shaking slightly and he could feel the adrenaline rushing through him. He glanced over to see his companion perfectly calm at the wheel, looking very much like he were out for an afternoon drive with nothing out of the ordinary.

“Where to now?” Q managed, glancing back behind them to see the flashing lights accompanied by sirens speed by towards the wreck.

“My other abandoned family manor.” Bond said flatly.

Q raised his eyebrows. “You aren’t serious.”

Bond just looked at him. They drove for nearly two and a half hours before pulling up to a little house not far from the beach in Worthing. The house appeared unlived in, if the unkempt lawn and peeling trim were good indicators. Bond got out of the car to manually open the door to the tiny garage and pulled the car in. The agent said nothing as he got out of the car and Q had no choice but to follow. Once the garage was shut, the agent led them across the narrow carport to the back door and opened that with a key he pulled from his jacket pocket.

It was fairly spartan inside, mostly white furniture that looked as though it had been new some ten years prior to Q’s birth, but it was clean. He was instructed to wait by the door while Bond cleared the small home. When he returned, Bond seemed more relaxed.

“This is your plan? Worthing?” Q asked.

Bond unbuttoned his jacket and draped it over the back of the couch before moving to the small kitchen. “Yes. I purchased this place in cash under a name you’d never know some years ago. As I said, my second abandoned family manor.”

“Okay. Well, I’d hope you don’t plan to simply lure them here to try and kill them before they kill us. We all know how well that worked out.... last... time.”

It was as if Q realized what he was saying mid-sentence and couldn’t quite stop himself. Bond’s outward expression didn’t change, exactly, but the young quartermaster knew the words had hit a nerve that would remain raw for many years to come.

“007, I am sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“The door’s that way if you don’t want my help, Q.”

“I am grateful-”

“You have a funny way of showing gratitude.”

“Damn it, Bond, let me finish!”

A spark lit blue eyes. “I have work to do if I’m going to keep you alive. Keep yourself occupied and don’t leave the house.”  
Q watched him gather a couple things from the kitchen before exiting the front door, locking it soundly behind himself and starting down the street on foot. The younger man couldn’t help the small pain of guilt that settled deep within his chest. He knew that Bond felt something akin to guilt for M’s death. After all, he’d stolen her away in order to save her. Yes, he’d gotten his bad guy in the end, but the price had been high. Q’s frustration at the lack of information he was receiving had led to very little filtering on his end. He would need to curb that if they were going to survive each other, much less the men after them.

 

Bond counted the steps as he took them, counted the heartbeats against his ribcage until he felt the anger subside ever so slightly. He was reasonably certain he wouldn’t throw a punch at the next person who spoke to him by the time he reached his destination, a little pub tucked into a line of shops. The bartender greeted him as there were very few patrons in the place and Bond gave him his order. When he had the glass in hand he moved to a booth in the back and pulled a burner phone out of his pocket. He downed the drink in one go. The anger had subsided; the pain wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“Moneypenny.”

“Hello, darling.” Bond greeted.

There was a quick shuffling of papers and the sound of clothes rustling as she stood and  
moved away from her desk. “Where the hell are you? No, never mind, I know that’s ridiculous. How’s our boy?”

“Alive. Fine. Pushing buttons, so he’s fine. I need you to do something for me. You still have that phone I handed you, yes?”

“Of course.” Moneypenny said.

“Good. I’m sending you a photograph of a license. I need you to find out who was paying his bills. And I don’t suppose you know anything about this project Q’s on?”

“No, I don’t. I’ll see what I can find.”

“You’re a dream. What do we know about Craven?”

There was a sound of a door opening and closing and her voice dropped considerably.

“When our mutual friend took his post - while you were on... vacation - there was quite a bit of talk. He’s the youngest to head up the branch, you know.”

“I would hope he’s the youngest. Lad couldn’t have gotten his clearance too many years ago.”

Moneypenny gave a short laugh on the other end. “Craven protested it. M had her way and that was the end. I’m pretty sure it had something to do with Q showing his merit by hacking some supposed impenetrable files that Craven had stored, thoroughly embarrassing him in the process of making his point.”

“Needless to say he’s never bothered to make friends with the bureaucracy.”

“No, he hasn’t.” She paused and it sounded as if the door opened again.

“Thank you, Miss Moneypenny,” Bond said when he realized their conversation would have to be cut short. “I’m looking forward to anything you can provide about the project he’s on.” He snapped the phone shut and ordered another drink.

 

 

No sleep coupled with the excitement of the morning had brought about a headache like Q would prefer never to have known. He sat slumped at the kitchen table, fingers under his glasses to try to massage the tension from behind his eyes. He was in the process of tracing the information from the file he’d obtained back, but it seemed to be a much longer process than he had ever imagined. Someone had gone to quite a bit of trouble to hide the exact branch of bureaucracy this little project had come from.

Q tensed when he heard the lock coming undone on the front door. He stood, eyes wide and fully alert now. Bond had been gone for hours and he hadn’t heard a peep out of him. All of a sudden he felt very, very exposed. Q stood, running a hand through his dark hair and looked around for something he could use as a weapon. The fear he had felt from the intrusion at his apartment that morning crept into his bones even though he told himself the likelihood of it being anyone other than Bond was slim to none. It would not have taken Bond this long to open the door. He pulled a closet open to find it empty. The second door he opened proved more helpful. It was only a bat, but it would have to do. Q turned out the single light he’d kept on and crept up to the door. It opened slowly, whoever was coming in made an irritated grunt and Q brought the bat down as soon as a set of shoulders cleared the door.

The figure slumped forward, not falling but sending two bags of what appeared to be groceries tumbling to the floor. Q realized too late that the bags would have been why it took Bond so long to open the door, but he was still holding the bat aloft and Bond had turned and grabbed it in one hand. Q prayed he would never again underestimate the strength of the other man. Bond had him shoved into the wall behind the door, the bat between them, the breath forced out of Q’s lungs.

“James, it’s me,” he rasped.

Bond let go of the bat and took a step backwards, half stumbling. “Damn it all, Q,” he snarled.

Q was taking a few unsteady breaths, trying to find the right words. “I.... I’m sorry. I thought you were one of those men breaking in,” he fumbled around. His eyes darted down to the floor where the groceries were lying all over the terrible shag carpet. “Here, let me.”

“Sure you won’t throw them at me?” Bond grumbled, hand raised to the shoulder that the bat had made contact with. “Was that supposed to bring someone down?”

“Well, yes,” Q murmured, feeling as if that was somehow the wrong answer. He gathered up the food back into the bags. “Is this where you’ve been all day?”

“Yes, dear.” Bond moved passed him, not bothering to take the bags back. “And following up on a few things.”

“I really wish you’d give me a straight answer. If we like it or not, we’re now in this together.” He followed him into the kitchen and set the bags down on the counter. He waited and waited and finally asked huffed with irritation. Bond showed no sign of listening to him, much less answering him. His focus was on something entirely unknown. “Did you hear me, 007? I feel it would be beneficial if you would-”

“Shut up.”

“Listen...”

“I said shut it,” Bond snapped, moving back past Q and deeper into the small house. “You haven’t opened any windows? You haven’t walked out of any doors?”

“Of course I haven’t,” Q answered indignantly. “I have been at that table all day trying to figure out who has enough gall to outsmart me in my own system.”

“Are you any closer?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. No.”

Bond made no further comment and disappeared from view as he rechecked the house. He returned, apparently satisfied, and brushed past Q back into the kitchen. Q watched as he threw together ingredients for a simple meal. He wasn’t surprised that Bond could maneuver around a kitchen, most agents learned how to make do but it was still an odd sight.

“Are you not speaking to me?” Q asked, trying not to sound defeated.

Bond looked at him, and Q didn’t know if the brief expression had been irritation or amusement. “I’m not sure there’s anything to say at this point.”

“You could tell me what you know, to start with.” Q said.

“I’ll make you a deal. Tell me about the project you’re working on, and I’ll tell you what leads I’ve been following.”

Q felt Bond’s eyes on him as he collapsed back into the kitchen chair. “Tell me it doesn’t matter if I tell you.”

“I’ll give you one better. I’ll let everyone know I forced it out of you, but you resisted for an impressive length of time.” Bond said.

Q glared at him. “Several agents have recently been given false leads that led them to less than favourable situations. One of them was killed for it, the others injured with degrees of varying severity. Because we don’t encourage our agents to fraternize or share snitches, it took a damn long time for someone to realize that the false leads were coming from the same man.”

Bond frowned. “That means he was able to identify multiple agents on multiple assignments.”

“Exactly. Either we already had a leak, or the man was working from the inside and playing the part himself. None of the agents have given apt enough descriptions to form a visual identification. He’s disguised himself well.”

“Then how do we know it’s the same man?”

“He wasn’t efficient enough. The ones who survived all reported speaking to a man called Hale.”

Bond put a plate of food and a mug of tea in front of him. “Hale.” he repeated.

“Mmm,” Q murmured as he put the mug to his lips tilted it upward. The liquid did not actually make it to his mouth, but the tea steamed towards his nose and he inhaled deeply. The smell of Earl Grey filled his senses, and a small smile tugged at his lips as he placed the particular brand of tea. He could hardly picture Bond skulking around Harrod’s for anything, much less his quartermaster’s favorite tea, but he rarely misplaced the smell of a good brand. Perhaps he’d misjudged Bond’s own tastes.

“I’m working on an algorithm to put everything together,” Q finished his statements. “If done correctly, it can put all the information together to formulate the identity of the man.”

“How soon until it’s ready?” Bond asked, returning to finish cooking his own dish when he was sure that Q eating steadily.

“I couldn’t say,” the younger man answered honestly. “I’ve been a bit.... distracted in recent hours and there’s many variables to account for.”

“Well, I stayed out of your way this afternoon, so don’t bother blaming your distraction on me.”

“No, I spent the better half of that tracing the source back. Apparently someone amongst the bureaucracy found the first trace. They set M on the trail and he in turn put me on it.” Q paused as he stuffed another fork full of food into his mouth. “Are you even listening to me?”

Bond seemed snapped out of his daze and he tossed the contents of his frying pan. “Yes.”

Q opened his mouth to continue, but never got the chance as the sound of shattering glass split the early night air and the entire world seemed to silence in its wake. Bond jolted slightly, letting go of the frying pan. He glanced back to Q and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before he began falling backwards.

The quartermaster lept out of his chair in a movement that he thought might have been to catch him, but he was too far away and everything was happening too fast. The agent slammed back into the cabinets, his head smacking loudly against them as he slumped down, blue eyes suddenly hollow as if he were only barely conscious.

Q was at his side. “007?” he called, shaking him slightly. “Focus here. Focus.” When blue eyes came to rest on him he couldn’t help but smile. “Hello,” he murmured as he pushed back blond hair, holding onto him carefully.

There was a brief flash of emotion in Bond’s face that Q didn’t quite have time to place. Sadness, regret, amused affection...he couldn’t tell and the next second it was gone, replaced by the calculating look Q knew meant violent happenings were soon to follow. Bond reached into his pocket and pressed the car keys against Q’s fingers. He tried to sit up, resulting in the two of them hunched together on the kitchen floor.

“You have to go,” James said. The next part of his sentence was interrupted by another bullet piercing the window and the cabinets above them. He grabbed Q’s head and pulled it against his shoulder as the wood splintered and moved them further into the kitchen and away from the shooter.

“And go where? And leave you to do what, exactly?” Q demanded, pulling at the shirt near Bond’s shoulder where blood was already seeping through.

“Away from here so I can take care of whoever the bloody hell that is,” James said.

The idea of simply running to the car and driving away to nowhere while his agent faced an unknown enemy -while wounded, no less- sent a cold rush through Q’s stomach, as if the floor had fallen out from underneath him. James was capable, the most capable man in the service, not that Q would ever say as much.

“James,”

James reached forward with his uninjured arm and cupped the side of Q’s face firmly, thumb pressing against his jaw. “Q. You must go. You can solve this. I’m just the trigger to be pulled.”

“Or not be,”Q answered as if it had given him an idea. “Come on. I think this is one of those times. Let’s get out of here.”

“Someone’s got to-”

“Either we both go or we both stay. You don’t have another choice, 007,” the quartermaster snapped, using the voice he reserved for his more irritable moments. It always reminded Bond of someone scolding a small child.

“Please tell me you know how to shoot,” the agent grumbled as he motioned to the bag that was left in a kitchen chair.

“I design your weapons, Mr. Bond,” Q sniffed.

“I know you design them. I need to know you can use them.”

“I can pull a trigger if I must.”

The sound of the door being beaten against caught both men’s attention. “That won’t hold,” Q managed, eyes widening behind his glasses.

“Get the bag and come on. We’ll go out the back way.”

“You going to blow this house up too?”

“If I have to.” James had forced himself to his feet by now, leaning heavily against the wall for support as his quartermaster scurried for the bag of goodies. He watched him and couldn’t help but think of how young he was. How fresh to all of this. “I’ll get you out of this,” he vowed softly.

“Both of us,” Q corrected, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

“Start the car, shoot anything that moves, understand? I’ll buy us a few minutes.” Bond said, heading for the bat that still lay on the floor where Q had dropped it earlier.

It would take less time to argue, Q realized and with a huff sprinted to the back of the house. Bond hadn’t told him to stay with the car once he’d started it. Running, he made it across the carport and into the garage, yanking the car door open and jamming the key into the ignition. As soon as he heard the engine rumble to life, he was gone again, back across to the house and realizing belatedly that he was still holding the bag. He had just reached the back door, put his hand on the doorknob and pulled it open when he heard the front door come off it’s frame and crash to the floor in the front. Frozen to the spot, Q listened to the fight, waited for the sound of Bond gaining the upper hand. It did not come. Instead he heard another gunshot followed by silence.

“No,” Q breathed.

He dropped to one knee with the bag and dug through it until his fingers found the object he was looking for, the Walther PPK fitting solidly in his hand. The three lights blinked green and he stood, moving silently back towards the front of the house.  
As he approached, he could see Bond on his knees, the attacker’s arm around his neck and a gun against his head. Q aimed the gun and calmly said, “Let him go,”

The man twisted around, pulling Bond with him. Q ignored the irritated glare Bond gave him. He held the gun surprisingly steady for as afraid as he should be feeling. “I’d really prefer not to shoot you, but I also won’t let you kill him. Let him go.”

Their attacker gave a short laugh as he leveled his gun at the quartermaster, arm still around Bond and making the shot tricky. Q took a deep breath and it happened all at once. He returned fire on instinct as soon as he realized the other man’s finger was on the trigger and the small house grew very quiet in the wake of two gunshots.

Q’s shot was good and the man stumbled back, releasing Bond instantly. The blond agent watched him fall, dead. He appeared fascinated by the sight and almost laughed as he turned back.

“Q, I never really thought you could-”

The quartermaster stood rooted in his spot, gun still clutched in both hands from where he’d fired it. His eyes were fixated on the dead man and he’d begun to shake. Deep crimson began to blossom his front and he gave a short choking sound as the gun fell from his fingers, clinking heavily to the ground.

“Q!”

The sharp sound of his name reaching his ears, not a request but a command kept him on his feet just long enough for James to reach him. For a split second he was freefalling, but then he was slumping against Bond, gripping the man’s shirt for all he was worth and Bond was lowering him towards the floor. His cheek bumped James’ shoulder and Q closed his eyes as he dragged in a painful breath. Q felt a hand in his hair and against his face before pressure against his wound caused his eyes to fly open and he grabbed at Bond’s hand.

“Q? Let me...stop pushing, for God’s sake, I’ve got to see...” Bond’s voice had changed from sharp command to furious stage whisper and Q was startled enough to let go of his wrist and let him put pressure on to stem the bleeding.

It occurred to Q that it wasn’t fury in his voice but fear.

“I’m alright,” Q rasped.

“You’re an alright shot, but damn lousy at dodging,” Bond returned. “I thought that gun was programmed to my palm print.”

Q leaned his head against Bond’s shoulder and laughed softly. “Had to test it somehow, didn’t I?”

Bond snorted. “Good news is this man seemed to be the only one. I can’t imagine others aren’t behind him.”

He watched as Q nodded listlessly at his words, groaning slightly as he pressed against the wound. The blood flow had stopped, but he’d need treatment if he were to survive.

“Q.”

“Mm?”

“I need you to stay with me. Do you hear?”

“I hear you,” the younger man managed.

James frowned and shifted so that he could move quickly to the next room. He winced as he reached up into a cabinet to pull his version of a first aid kit from it and started back for the main room. They had a very small window to get Q stabilized and both of them on their way. He’d planned to have the quartermaster do the driving if he was able to leave with him, but that was out of the question now. He gave a quick glance down at his own shoulder and frowned. He’d had worse. Hell, he’d had worse from friendly fire.

“Q?” he called softly as he approached. A frown tugged his lips downward when the younger man didn’t as much as stir at his approach. He knelt down, hands going to check his pulse. “Don’t you dare die on me,” he murmured, pulling Q back into his arms. He sighed. “Good quartermaster’s are hellish to come by, Q. I’m not saying you’re good, but I haven’t decided you’re complete rubbish yet either so... So you need to stick it out with me a little longer so we can find out, you hear me? Q?”

“I think.... That’s the closest thing to a compliment as you come,” Q rasped, one eye cracking open.

Bond ran his thumb quickly over Q’s cheek before peeling his shirt away from the wound. “Not a compliment. I just would like for you to be aware of how inconvenient it would be for me to lose you.”

“Your possible inconvenience is duly noted, 007,” Q said, but managed a small smile to take the bite out of his words.  
“This is going to hurt. The good news is that the bullet went through so it isn’t bouncing around that skinny frame of yours.”

“Hurrah.” Q muttered.

Bond shook his head and quickly cleaned the wound as best he could before ripping open a small package and pouring the contents into the tear in the skin. Q hissed and flinched, but did not pull away.

“What the hell is that?” the younger man asked.

“It’s a hemostatic chemical. It will cause your blood to clot and stop the bleeding so we can move you before his back up comes.” Bond said, replacing pressure.

He waited several minutes for the chemicals to do their job, making sharp comments whenever Q would drift away from him. When the bandage was in place and Bond was a satisfied as he could be given the circumstances, he brushed hair away from his quartermaster’s face, causing Q to blink sleepily and look up at him.

“Are you ready to move?”

“Not much of a choice, is there?” Q asked softly.

“Afraid not.”

“What about you?”

“I’m used to this.”

“You can be used to getting shot?”

“You’d be surprised. Up we go.”

Q made a terrible gasping sound as James lifted him up, slinging one thin arm around his uninjured shoulder. He murmured encouragement - really, the words were meant to encourage, it wasn’t his fault if no one else took them that way - as the two men stumbled towards the car left running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos! The tracker defense object that Q plugs into the cigarette lighter is an actual gadget for purchase in the UK that does block GPS signals. It blocks everything in a 45 foot radius, if I understood correctly, which I imagine would be terrifically confusing for anybody driving near you. Also, the hemostatic chemical is also a real thing, mostly used by the army, so we figured that Bond could get his hands on some, too. (Improper applications of the chemical or its name would entirely be my fault, as I discovered it while mucking around on the internet while we were writing this story.) I didn't know either thing existed before writing this story and I think it would be nifty to have either one. You know, just in case. :) Thanks for continuing to read!


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you how embarrassed I am to discover that I never posted the last part of this. It's been a million years, I know, but here's the last two parts!

Bond settled the nearly dozing quartermaster into the passenger seat, and left Q alone only long enough to grab the old satchel with the laptop shoved inside. After settling into the driver's seat he glanced to his left to see two dark, tired eyes staring at him. “Good to see you listened and stayed awake.” Bond said. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” James murmured, pulling the car back out of the driveway. They needed a plan. A more solid plan than his mind was willing to give him at the moment.

“I read your file... when they assigned you to me. I even found some files I probably wasn’t supposed to.”

“Your point, Q?”

The young man gave a shallow cough, wincing as he did. “I don’t understand why you trust me. You said... at my flat... That you knew I’d been set up. Why do you trust me?”

James stiffened ever so slightly, so slightly that if Q had not been using every ounce of energy he possessed to focus on his agent’s profile, he would have missed the working of the muscle underneath James’ jaw. James was silent for so long, Q began to wonder if he’d imagined it, if he hadn’t asked aloud or if James was simply going to ignore the question. The city lights began to grow thinner and fade behind them and Q started to fade in and out with them, blinking and trying to stay awake by watching James’ profile for more tells, more things that might give him away. Q realized, as the lights illuminated the car less and less as they got further into the countryside, that it was a ridiculous notion. James was not a man who gave anything away unless it was at his discretion.

“She chose you.” James said finally.

Q was startled, he hadn’t known he’d drifted for so long. “M?” he murmured.

“Yes. She chose you. She chose you for me and now she’s gone and you are all I have left.”

Q decided that if they both got out of the situation alive that he would hug James Bond if it cost him his life. He swallowed and held his side. “So you only trust me because of M.”

“No,” James said sharply. He glanced at Q, the first time since the driveway and the younger man could see depth of emotion in his face. James looked back to the road. “No,” he said again, more gently. “I was willing to risk trusting you because of her. I chose to trust you because of who you are.”

The young quartermaster felt his chest tighten and he didn’t think it was from the wound. It was true, he had read an absurd amount about James Bond when M had assigned the agent to him. Others had complained because he was supposed to be the best, and the fact that he had all but come back from the dead made his legend grow even further. Q had complained too because he hadn’t liked what he read. Bond was broken, in a way, and he had confronted M about it at the time, requesting a reassignment. He had come up with some complete rubbish that she had seen straight through and finally admitted his reservation. She had smiled at him from behind her desk, a rare sight, but there was a bit of mischief in her eyes that late night when she had turned down his request and given him the information for the meet in the gallery. “You’ll be good for each other,” she had told him. “Bring him home alive.”

Funny, he thought, that it was James that would have to bring him home alive now.

“Thank you,” Q murmured, knowing it wasn’t enough. Knowing that it couldn’t be enough.

James snorted, but there was a twitch of a smile at the edges of his lips. “It’s been a good investment so far.”

“Got you shot.”

“I’ve been shot for a hell of a lot less.”

Q smiled and tried to sit up a little straighter, cringing and squirming as he did. “We need to go back to HQ.”

“Are you delirious?” James asked. “Still bleeding?”

“Shut up,” Q said without malice. “We’re both bleeding and we’re being chased all over the countryside by men we haven’t the right equipment to track or trap. If you can get us back into headquarters, I can run my algorithm we can catch the bad guy and we can get stitches.”

Q thought it was indecent that Bond could look amused at his plan.

“Have you got a better idea?” he groused.

“Not particularly. It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever been involved in a plan that had stitches as a bullet point before.”

“As your medical history attests.” Q grumbled.

James watched the rear view mirror for several minutes before sighing. “You want to go back to headquarters.”

“Yes.”

“All right. You understand that we’ll have to be quick, that anyone could be a threat until that algorithm is complete?”

Q rolled his eyes before allowing them to drift close. “Yes. I did pass spy school, you know.” 

“I’m still not entirely sure you’re old enough for your clearance.”

“I got my clearance some years ago.”

“By some years, you mean one or two, don’t you?”

“Better than your half a century ago,” Q snarked back.

“I’m not-” Bond stopped, glancing over to where the quartermaster was nestled into the seat, one hand pressed firmly against his wound and a wicked smile on his face. “You read my file. You know exactly how old I am.”

“I do.”

“You don’t have a bloody file.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

“Mostly true. A file cover with the statement that you had high honours at uni does cover much.”

Q let his head lull against the seat. “I know something about you that you don’t know in return.”

James grunted. “Enough talking. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re using up the strength you’ll need to get into MI6.”

“You could just admit that I win,” Q murmured almost to himself. He realized James might have missed it and he couldn’t seem to find the breath to repeat himself any louder.

After checking to make sure that he wasn’t still bleeding, James let him sleep. It wasn’t wise, but with hours to go before they could seek real medical attention, it was the best he could do. He checked to make sure their GPS jammer was still blinking and checked the mirrors religiously. All the way into London and no one was following. It made James think whoever was after them, whoever was determined to kill his young quartermaster was already waiting for them at headquarters. He made a mental note of of how much ammunition was left in the car and sighed. At worst, it would be a scrape to get out of this without further scathing. At best, he’d get to use one of Q’s new gadgets if they made it to the office.

Bond parked the car several blocks away and shut off the lights. He looked at Q, still sound asleep in the seat next to him, dark hair falling over his forehead. Q was pale, but was breathing steadily. For a brief moment, James considered leaving him in the car while he scoped out HQ by himself and cleared it of any potential dangers. A futile move, he knew, as they weren’t likely to expose themselves to him without Q present and the risk of leaving him lightly armed and injured in the car was far too high to contemplate seriously. He forced himself back into his jacket, wincing at the way it pulled at his shoulder.

Turning to Q again, he sighed. If he was wrong about his quartermaster he’d be hanged for it. Well, he’d be hanged if they still did that sort of thing. A small smirk twisted the corners of his mouth. If he was wrong about his quartermaster they wouldn’t need the chance. He leaned over and pressed a feather light kiss against Q’s temple.

“You win,” James muttered.

He leaned back and said more loudly, “Q? Q, it’s time. We’re here.”

The younger man didn’t stir at first, but after a moment his brows knit tightly together as he seemed to be breaking the upper layers of sleep into consciousness. Lines deepened in his features and he moaned as he pressed one hand over the wound on his left.

“Q?” Bond called again, taking hold of his hand firmly. “Wake up.”

Q suddenly took a death-grip on the agent’s hand, holding on with all his might. Dark eyes fluttered open and he gasped. “Hurts,” he managed, somehow tightening his grip. “Hurts.”

“I know,” James whispered, blue eyes watching out the window. They were sitting targets where they were if they lingered much longer. “Q, can you move? We need to get inside.”

The quartermaster nodded, breathing in as deeply as he could through his nose. His expression changed to one of determination and he forced himself to release Bond’s hand. He sat, trembling for a moment, before he nodded again, almost as if to remind himself that he was, indeed, ready.

Bond rounded the car quickly, alert and ready for anything. Q had managed to get the door open and all but fell into the agent’s arms. He tried to grab on to the taller man, steadying himself, and his fingers latched onto James’ injured left shoulder, causing a small hiss of pain from the double-0. “Fine pair we are,” he grumbled.

“That’s what they say,” Q said, voice muffled against James’ shoulder.

James laughed, a short huff that left his breath visible in the night air. “Well, I’ve been the subject of worse talk, I suppose. Q, are you alright enough to move?”

Bond’s arm was warm against his back and Q thought that it would be much better to just close his eyes and sleep right where he was, but he had an objective and was bound and determined to see it through. It was no less than what M would have expected of him; no less than what his agent would do.

“Office. Algorithm. Stitches. Sleep.” Q muttered.

“Yes.” James agreed.

“Alright, I’m alright. Let’s go.”

James squeezed the back of his neck gently in encouragement and they carefully made their way from the car towards one of the back entrances to headquarters. Q made sure that Bond had the messenger bag with his laptop and was faintly amused to see the agent wearing it across his uninjured shoulder, but made no comment. He saved his energy for every step forward, staying focused on their ultimate goal. Bond kept a hand on his elbow, a small show of support and to make him look more steady than he felt from any gaze that might be on them.

“We’ll be alright, yeah?” Q breathed.

The fingers on his elbow tightened ever so slightly. “Yeah,” Bond agreed.

Bond was a very good liar. He did it for a living, Q reminded himself. Even so, he really did want to believe him.

Somehow Bond’s keycard had not been revoked and they made it down into the depths of MI6 HQ with surprising ease. It was late now, in the dead of night, and most personnel had gone home to their families and their beds. There would be a few security guards here and there, a few stragglers that had just one more report to fill out and-

“Tanner,” James greeted as they came around a corner, nearly colliding with the man that had always been at their former boss’ side. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Do you realize the trouble you two are in? M’s held off the attack dogs as long as he can and he sent me down when your card set off an internal alarm. What were you thinking?”

“That time was more important than stealth,” Bond answered, motioning to the quartermaster that was barely on his feet.

“I’ll get medical-” Tanner began.

“No!” Q managed, startling out of the near stupor he’d fallen into to make it inside. “No. If M knows we’re here it puts him in a place. I’ve got... I’ve got to....”

“We’ve got to clear this up now,” Bond finished for him.

“What should I tell M then?”

“That I have everything under control. If he can give us a small window of time, Q can finish the project he started.”

Slowly, Tanner nodded, gaze swinging back and forth between the two. “He can get you maybe twenty minutes. Craven’s been breathing down his neck since noon.”

“Get us what you can. I’m not exactly firing on all cylinders at this point.” Q said.

“Alright,” Tanner said. He sighed. “If I can manage it I’ll send medical before they send in security.”

“You’re a good man,” James said wryly. He urged Q along the hallway, leaving Tanner in their wake.

Tanner watched until they’d rounded another corner then turned and made his way to M’s office as quickly as he could without actually running. He contained a sound of surprise when he turned a corner and ran into someone who certainly did not belong inside headquarters, at least with a weapon drawn. The man tried to level the weapon off for a shot and Tanner forced his wrist away, throwing the shot wide. He dropped a punch to the man’s gut before making an uppercut into the jaw sending the man to the ground and the gun skittering away. Tanner pushed his finger against his ear, activating his link to a private channel between himself and M.

“Sir! There are intruders in the building!”

James and Q both jumped at the sound of the shot and the double-oh agent nearly dragged Q the rest of the way to the Q branch office so they could lock themselves inside. The doors snapped shut behind them, signalling that steel and bullet-proof glass of the highest caliber stood in the way of them and anyone who might try to enter.

Q sank into his chair gratefully, feeling the whole room spin. He could barely catch his breath at this point and he was sure that he was bleeding again. His hand came away slick with blood when he checked and he frowned, wiping it off on his jeans.

“Q?” Bond’s voice filtered into his hearing, almost startling him.

“Right,” he murmured, moving past the supposed new security protocols on the computer that were meant to keep him out of it. They didn’t work.

James turned toward the door, looking as if he’d heard something. He didn’t move for several long moments until he returned his blue gaze to the injured quartermaster. “Almost done?”

“No, it’ll take some time yet,” Q answered through short breaths. “I’m locking the system though so they can’t stop it. Even if security comes and takes us, they won’t be able to hack my codes until the name is given.”

“It isn’t security I’m concerned about,” James said, adjusting his hold on the gun he was carrying.

“What else? We’ve made it here to headquarters.” Q said. He rested his hands on the keyboard, tiny tremors still running through his fingers in anticipation of executing more code and commands at any given second.

James raised an eyebrow and gave him a pointed look.

“Instead of sanctuary in to the angry maw of the hound hunting us, then.” Q said.

“It’s can’t be anyone else.”

The door beeped twice, announcing the entrance of another party. Bond immediately lifted his gun and positioned his body in front of where Q was sitting, blocking him from whoever was coming through the door.

“Didn’t you block badge entry?” James asked.

“I did. It would have to be someone with clearance I didn’t think would...”

“Damn it all, Q,” James growled.

The door opened and Derek Craven stepped in, gun drawn and aimed at Bond. The door hissed shut behind him and he smiled carefully.

“Well, well. Your reputation for survival was apparently well earned, Mr. Bond. And stunningly have extended to your companion this time.” Craven said.

Q stood behind his desk, eyes flicking over his screens before truly looking at Craven. “You cannot be serious. What are you going to do, shoot us both in Q Branch? Everything is recorded. You’ll be caught.”

Craven shook his head. “Sadly not. You are the best at what you do, I can’t deny that. It’s the reason we’re here in the first place, isn’t it? But after you’re dead, and the official inquiry begins as to how the youngest Q branch lead in history was siphoning off information with the help of his famously impulsive double oh agent, my people will have your equipment. Anything that happens in here will be lost and nothing’s being recorded right now. I’m not as clever as you, but I’m not completely incompetent.”

“Or I can kill you right now and spare us all the lengthy discourse and inquiry altogether.” James said, taking a half step forward.

Craven smiled again. “Are you sure you want to do that? You might save Q, but it won’t save you from a murder charge.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Bond answered with a smile. “After all, my reputation for survival is well earned.”

“James,” Q said quietly behind him. His trembling hand had taken hold of the older man’s sleeve even as the agent was ready to pull the trigger and end Craven for good. “James, don’t.”

“Q, shut it.”

“No, he’s right. Please.” He could barely find the breath to speak now, knees threatening to collapse beneath him. He needed Bond to understand. He needed one of them to make it out alive, and it might as well be him. He wanted it to be him, if it couldn’t be both.  He could hear James about to argue again and he spoke out of sheer will. “Don’t make me pull rank on you, 007. Stand down.”

Bond stiffened, under his fingertips Q could feel the muscles in his back tighten as he stood ramrod straight and lowered his weapon. He forced back a shiver and an apology as Craven directed James to put his gun on the floor and kick it away. Q never let go of his tenuous grip on James’ jacket, even after the gun was well out of their reach. Craven ordered Bond to move away from Q and the desk, and if the young quartermaster thought Bond couldn’t have gotten more tense he would have been wrong.

“You heard me, Mr. Bond. I said move over there.”

The fabric slipped out of Q’s fingers as James did as he was instructed and Q couldn’t stop the shiver then, the pain in his side not enough to mask the hollow feeling he was left with when James was no longer standing next to him. When Bond was at least ten feet away, Craven ordered him to stop and the agent turned, eyes going to his quartermaster.

“Now all that’s left is to have young Q stop the program that will identify me.” Craven said. He swung the gun away from Q and towards James. “That means your role is over, Mr. Bond.”

James shifted as if to move out of the way, but he wasn’t quick enough. Craven shot four times, all four shots catching the agent in the chest. His body was thrown back, and he hit a desk before slumping to the ground, blue eyes empty.

Q let out a small gasp of horror, moving faster than he thought he should be able to to the agent’s side. Bond was very still, sitting awkwardly against the desk with his eyes now shut. The quartermaster started to reach for him, trying to assure himself that the legendary 007 had not just died because he wasn’t quick enough. That his agent hadn't fallen because he wasn't clever enough. 

“Don’t,” Craven growled out. “The computer.”

“I can’t stop it.” Q felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward as he dropped all the way to his knees next to Bond. “When it comes out, they’ll be no twisting that evidence. Not with what I've done.” He stopped, feeling choked on his own breath and he could feel the coppery taste in the back of his throat as he coughed. “I don’t understand why you’d set me on it.”

“If you’d had just died like a good boy yesterday it wouldn’t have been a problem,” Craven spat. “The information I gave you was so corrupted that it would have named you.”

“Good thing I found the corruption then,” Q managed, hearing the door slide open.

At the same moment, the computer beeped loudly, Derek Craven’s face and service information flashing onto the screen along with the threads back to the leaks and corrupted information. Q touched Bond’s face before reaching over him and pulling the small revolver from the small of the agent’s back. The young man turned to see M and Tanner coming through the door, Tanner grabbing M’s arm and pulling him away as Craven twisted towards them. Breathing deeply through his nose, Q pushed everything else away save for the weight of the gun in his hand and the depth of the grief he felt. He pulled the trigger.

Craven dropped to the ground, dead before his body had even completely surrendered to the call of gravity. Tanner moved to the dead man, pulling weapons away from him and checking for a pulse. When he could find none, he shook his head and Q put the revolver on the floor and collapsed backwards, sitting heavily. He pressed one hand against his side and blinked rapidly, everything was blurring and he didn’t know if it was from the blood loss or the tears. With his other hand, he reached for Bond, bloodied fingers slipping on the the tile floor as he searched for his agent’s hand. He thought he felt it come to find his, but that was absurd, his mind reminded him as he gave into the darkness.


	4. Four

Q had never liked hospitals. He didn’t like the medical wing of MI6 any better, because it was just a small hospital that would never be open to the public. Granted, they had some interesting toys hidden away in there, and he’d been consulted several times on the development of some of those, but it had never mean that he had grown fond of the place.

He wasn’t sure if it was the white walls, the horrible smell of disinfectant that he was sure wasn't meant to be as strong as it was, or the somber attitudes of everyone there. As he slowly broke surface of the top layer of unconsciousness and into that state of awareness, he found himself frowning. Steady beeping and that terrible smell landed him only in that one place he didn’t want to be. As memories flooded back, he was sure he didn’t want to be anywhere right then. That was why he had been told not to get attached to his agent. Especially when his agent turned out to be the infamous 007.

Q felt his chest seize up and he found himself fully awake. The room was quiet, save for the very quiet sound of someone breathing - not quite snoring, but almost - to his far left. He realized that part of the problem was that his vision was entirely too blurry to make out the face of the person slumped in the bedside chair, waiting for his return to consciousness.

The figure stirred and seemed to move even as Q squinted. He reached, the blur of his form moving towards him so that the quartermaster flinched back. Perhaps his shot hadn’t been good. Perhaps this was Craven here to finish him off, just waiting until he was awake to suffocate him under his own pillow.

No pillow came, nor did any form of torment. His glasses were suddenly perched on his nose and the figure came into focus.

“There you are, sunshine.” James greeted, looking tired and relieved.

Q blinked at him, breath hitching and he reached, his arm moving before his brain could authorize it or not. James caught his hand and held it between them as he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

“You’re dead,” Q said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Yes. I’m sure you’re aware that’s a bad habit of mine. Sadly, you’re stuck with me for a bit longer.”

Q’s eyes burned and he tried to make a sharp retort and wound up coughing for his efforts. Bond reached over to the table beside the bed and offered him a glass of water, cautioning him to small sips. The agent watched him as he drank with a careful, studied gaze before allowing a small smile.

“I’d like it to go on record that I do in fact listen to you.”

Q handed him back the glass and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Yes, only the once and the one time you did it got you...how did you...how long...”

“You created that bullet proof vest, remember? The especially thin one? I was wearing it. And you’ve been out for almost two days.”

“So you aren’t dead.” Q said.

“No. I’ll be needing your services a little while longer.”

“And I’m not dead.”

“No, but I can see how you might think so, with all the white in this wing.”

Q let his eyes drift shut, his mind already exhausted. “I may need proof,” he half whispered.

James took his hand again and squeezed it gently. “Whatever you need, Sir.”  

 

By the end of Q’s week-long stay in the medical wing of MI6 he was about to go mad. They wouldn’t allow him his computer. M had said - via Miss Moneypenny - that he wouldn’t be allowed to work. Medical leave was medical leave and he would take it if he wanted to or not. Really, Q thought, it was just to keep him from hacking friendly country’s systems out of pure boredom. Bond had certainly gotten a good laugh from that conversation, but had been quickly informed that he too was on medical leave until the doctor cleared him.

“Eve’s going to yell at you if she sees you out of that sling again,” Q grumbled from his bed, not even bothering to look towards the door to see James standing there - of course, without his arm in the proper sling - with a cup of coffee in one hand and another, smaller cup, balanced on top of that so that his injured arm could hang at his side without being bothered.

“I have good news so don’t be like that,” the agent said with a smirk, offering the top cup to his injured quartermaster.

Dark eyes lit as Q took it. “They make a terrible cup of tea in this wing.”

“I’m sure they do. The coffee is worse, I guarantee it.”

“What’s your good news, or is it limited to a decent cup of tea?”

“Want want want,” Bond murmured, still amused. “You’re getting out today.”

“Really?”

“Mm. M says you’re not allowed back at work yet though. Neither am I, if it helps any.”

“I suppose we should be pleased we’re not spending our time in prison,” Q admitted. They had been conducting an investigation, but thus far nothing had turned up in the slightest to say anything negative about the young quartermaster.

“Yes, well, M mentioned that I might be more hazardous in prison than on the loose. Something about creating a riot or some such nonsense.” 

Q hid his smile behind his cup. “You? Causing a great disturbance? Perish the thought. So what’s the bad news?”

Bond leaned against the edge of Q’s bed, his usual perching place since the quartermaster had woken days before. “What? The glass can’t be completely full?”

“Spare me. Most days I’m grateful there’s a glass intact, whether it’s full or not.”

“Very well. Your release is conditional, per M’s written orders.”

Q frowned. “Conditional on what?”

“That you are not to return to your flat until cleared by the tech minions. Wait, no, hold your outrage, it won’t do any good. I know that they can’t do half as good a job as you, yes, alright, less than half. But the location must be cleared by the standards of the least before the great is to step foot in it again.”

Q was glaring at Bond for interrupting his various points of protest, but the agent seemed not to notice. “And when will this happen?”

“Clearance is pending the end of the inquiry.”

A heavy sigh left Q’s lips and he ran a hand through his unruly hair. “And where am I to go in the meantime? They aren’t squirreling me away to some secret lair in eastern Europe for the duration, are they? I’ll have to talk to M myself if that’s what’s happening.”

“Good luck getting ahold of him. One thing that he’s brought with him to MI6 from his days of in politics is his ability to deflect questions he doesn’t want to answer.”

“So you don’t know where they’re sending me?” Q sounded as if he were edging on concern now, his mind going over the dozens of locations - and those were just the ones that he knew - that they could be sending him to recover until the inquiry was done. All he wanted to do was go home at this point.

“Well, Miss Moneypenny was willing to save you from dreaded eastern Europe, but M can’t do without her and she’d have to stay home with you.” He watched the quartermaster take an irritable sip of his drink. “So you’re coming home with me.”

The tea nearly went everywhere as Q choked and sputtered, wincing as he did. Bond shot him an almost apologetic look as if he had not expected the reaction to be quite that extreme. “Well, if you’d prefer easter Europe....”

“No, not at all. Are you sure I won’t be a bother? I mean... you’re on leave. Don’t you have... things to do... on leave...?” Q was almost blushing by this point. He’d heard the stories about the infamous womanizer that was James Bond. He really didn’t want to go over to the agent’s flat, get settled in, and then find himself in the most awkward situations imaginable that he would never be able to take from his mind.

James shot him a devilish grin.  “You see, it’s just that I’m not supposed to move this arm very much so having you around might be a great help.”

Q felt himself go completely red. “007, I hardly think-”

“Unless of course you could build something that might aid-”

“There’s already a market for that and my skills are quite beyond it, thank you,” Q growled.

James’ grin grew wider. “I hardly think you’re beyond that particular skill set, Q. In fact this might be a good opportunity for you. Women like cute, injured things that they can cuddle.”

“I don’t want to be cuddled!” Q exclaimed.

James’ grin became positively shark-like. “Are you sure?”

Q glared at him. “I am always sure.”

A nurse stepped in. “Sir? His discharge papers are ready.”

James’ smile never faltered as he stood. “Let’s hope you’re always certain.”

“So there’s really no choosing eastern Europe now, is there?”

“‘Fraid not.”

Q sighed. At least Bond’s flat wouldn’t smell like a hospital.

****  
  
  


Q settled into Bond’s flat with surprising ease. He had a guest bedroom that he never used, but it was furnished and ready. It almost looked as if the agent had gone out and purchased fresh sheets and various other miscellaneous bits that Q would need for his stay. It was shocking, because thoughtfulness to this type of attention was not what came to mind when Q thought of Bond. Granted, his perspective had shifted in the last week and a half or so, but he still thought he was an arrogant ass at least three quarters of the time.

“Fridge should be stocked and I’m assuming that the tea you keep at the office is the type you like,” Bond was saying as he motioned blandly toward the kitchen.

Q moved slowly, still feeling the affects of the pain medication he was on and the tightness of a healing wound. He couldn’t help but wonder if Bond had taken to simply keeping it around. “You didn’t have to go to that trouble.”

Bond shrugged, not wanting to bother with it and moved past him. “Bedroom’s down that hall there. Mine backs up to it, so if you need anything just shout. I promised Miss Moneypenny I’d take the utmost care of you. She threatened to shoot me again if I didn’t.”

“I don’t think M would appreciate that,” Q said.

“Neither would I.” Bond said wryly.

The agent left Q's bag on the bed in the guest room and slipped back out, leaving him alone. Q breathed deeply, enjoying the moment of being by himself. He sat on the bed and ran his hand along the comforter, noticing the lack of anything personal in the room, which followed the theme of nothing personal in the flat at all. He wondered if it was because Bond hadn’t had much time in this flat, or if the flat he’d had that had been sold upon his “death” at Eve’s hands had been just as modelesque.

When James came back sometime later, he cut off his sentence about having ordered dinner when he saw Q asleep on the bed. With an amused smile, he set down the mug of tea he’d made for the younger man on the nightstand and as carefully as he could situated Q under the covers. On the premise of making sure Q hadn’t developed a fever, James pressed his hand gently against his forehead before brushing dark hair back.

“Sleep well, Q.” James murmured.

****  
  


Q rarely dreamt, or at least he rarely remembered when he did dream. In those rare circumstances his mind’s eye usually saw some sort of puzzle to put together, or a riddle to unravel. Numbers and figures filled the supposedly creative outlet of his mind, but not that evening.

It was a constant loop. The gunshot would go off, he would feel the pain spread across his torso, his lungs constricted and he couldn’t breathe. No matter what he did he could not breathe. Everything would turn hazy. Most of the time there was no visible shooter, but if there was it was usually Craven, laughing with his nose in the air as if he had something over the young quartermaster. Once it was Silva.

Every time, though, even though Q felt the pain of the bullet passing through him it wasn’t he who fell. Every time he would turn around to see Bond’s eyes staring hollowly back at him. His eyes were always a little too blue in his dreams, and many times Bond would mouth something, blood collect at his lips as he pitched forward or backward or to the side. No dream happened exactly the same. The worst one was when the bullet passed in between James’ eyes and he still stared, almost accusingly, at the younger man until Q woke screaming.

It was late when the quartermaster woke from the loop of horror, breathing hard and hand going to his side where the stitches pulled and protested at his abrupt movement. The flat was quiet and the clock read midnight. He sat, alone, for several long moments just focusing on his ability to breathe and trying to delete 007’s vacant, dead stare from his mind.

He pulled his knees to his chest, despite the protest from his side and pressed his face against them, fingers curling into the bedspread. He tried to think about all the things he would need to catch up on at work, but that led him to think about what he was building for Bond and he was right back at his agent’s hollow gaze behind his eyelids. He tried to think about the code he needed to rework in his new protocol and then he was thinking about the underground map that James had figured out -that moment was the moment when Q had known he would keep 007 as his agent and not sneakily pawn him off to an intern without M knowing- but the map made him think about the train in the tunnel and James still wound up dead in his mind’s eye.

Q was trembling so hard it made his joints ache and tears warmed the fabric against his face. His head jerked up as the door burst open, bouncing lightly off the doorstop as James stepped in with his gun drawn and cleared the room. Satisfied there was no immediate physical threat, he lowered the gun and looked at his quartermaster.

“Q?”

Q might have laughed any other time at the sight of James Bond in boxers and a t-shirt, short blond hair in a hundred messed up spikes and a gun. Instead, all he could manage in a broken whisper was, “James,”

Bond stood and stared for a moment, trying to assess the situation. “What happened?” he asked at last, daring to set the gun on top of the dresser and move closer.

Embarrassment caught up with him and he ducked his head, tiredly mumbling, “Nothing.” 

The agent quirked an eyebrow and took a seat on the edge of the bed. He could see the wetness against the younger man’s face and pushed down his impulse to back away. He recognized the look on Q's face. He’d seen it on many, many people. He might have even seen it in the mirror once or twice, but that had been many years ago.

“I’m fine,” Q said, still feeling James' eyes on him.

“What’d you see?” He couldn’t help but smile at the shocked look on the quartermaster’s features. “Oh come now. Do you think I’ve never had a nightmare before?”

“Hadn’t thought about it, honestly.” Q shivered, feeling a cold settle in deep within him. He couldn’t look and James because somehow the darkness was playing with his mind and all he could see was that dead stare. He looked away and then back, finding blue eyes staring and blinking at him in the shadows. “It’s silly, really.”

“I doubt that.”

“It seems I’ve broken a cardinal rule of being a quartermaster. I keep getting hit, getting shot.” Q said softly.

Bond opened his mouth, but Q shook his head. “No, don’t say it. I keep getting shot but you’re the one that keeps dying. It’s all I can see, you dead or dying and there isn’t any life in you at all and it’s the most unnatural thing and I can’t...” Q shivered again and pressed his face against his knees again, too embarrassed to keep looking at his agent. “You’re dead and I can’t bear it.”

Stunned by the emotion in Q’s voice, James sat, motionless and speechless. He had been going to tell Q that it was normal to dream of his own death, most non-field agents did if they experienced any type of extreme field work. Most field agents did at one point or another. People weren’t designed to be accepting of death, that was nuance that came with time and experience. Fearing someone else’s death was a beast of a different nature, one of the only beasts that continued to devour James year after year as his someone else’s were taken away. He turned and sat with his back to the headboard and carefully laid his hand on Q’s back, rubbing gently.

“Put your mind at ease, Q. I’ve only time for one hobby and I’m quite good at it.” James said.

“It’s not a joke,” the quartermaster growled, some deep emotion flashing through his dark eyes. “I could have gotten you killed. If you hadn’t been wearing that vest-”

“But I was. And neither of us are dead.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just... I’m sure they’ll go away in time.”

James hummed. "In time." 

Q nodded and went silent, as if waiting for the agent to get up and head back to his own room. Instead James seemed to make himself more comfortable and tucked his long legs under the sheets.

“What are you doing?”

The blond gave a shrug and settled down against one of the many pillows he’d left on the bed for the younger man. “I really don’t like being pulled from bed by screams in the middle of the night. I might as well stay.”

Q could only stare for a moment. He couldn’t help but feel a little better since James had come into the room and he could see the life in him. Even a sleeping Bond would breathe. Slowly, as if not entirely sure he should agree with it, he nodded and settled back down.

Q woke again sometime later, a small jolt and a flash of fear instead of the vivid images and shouts from before, but still he laid awake, eyes wide and heart racing. His mind picked through facts to focus on; he was in Bond’s flat, in his guest room, he was alive, Bond was alive. His mind registered that Bond was in fact still in the bed with him when he heard James shift and nearly had a heart attack as his adrenaline spiked again at the sound.

An arm descended around him, carefully avoiding his injury and fingers curled into his shirt under his heart. Warmth surrounded him as James pulled him gently against his chest, and he felt the agent press his nose into his hair.

“You’re safe. Go back to sleep,” James murmured.

Q tangled his fingers in Bond’s t-shirt, gripping it as if it were tie to reality. Very slowly he began to relax. His breathing and heartbeat slowed and he risked a glance upward. James’ eyes were closed, though after a moment of staring one opened to peer out from under blond lashes. “Sleep,” he said again, voice rough but gentle.

The quartermaster nodded against his chest, letting his eyes lull. He could hear his agent’s heart beating steadily and he dreamt no more. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, Daniel Craig in Casino Royale was my first Bond and I've loved him ever since. Takada_Saiko refused to watch any of the Craig!Bond films because she thought he looked like a Nazi and didn't look at all like Sean Connery. So when I saw Q in the trailer for Skyfall, I knew I could lure her in with the cute geeky boy bait. It took a bit of trickery, but I got her to see it and as expected she fell in love and we had a new fandom in which to run amok. :) We also both may or may not own Q mugs. This is our first Bond related work. It is completed, I just have to section out the chapters and will post as I do. Thank you so much for reading!


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